Page 61 of Stowaway Whirlwind
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She laughs, but it’s an ugly sound. “When did you even meet this woman?”
“Six weeks ago,” I answer without a hint of shame.
“Six weeks…” She trails off, then says louder with disbelief, “Six weeks? As in, right before or after she gave birth?”
“Yes. We met the day before she had Lily.”
“You’re telling me you’re marrying some woman youjust metwho gave birth tosomeone else’s baby?” She laughs again.
“Goldie isn’t ‘some woman’. She’sthe one. My soulmate.”
“Oh, give me a break, Davis. I know you aren’t the brightest,” she says condescendingly, “but I didn’t know you were dumb enough to believe this woman is yoursoulmate”—she spits the word—“after six weeks of knowing each other.”
My blood is boiling too hot to say anything just yet. I knew Amanda looked down on me for being a truck driver instead of using my degree, butgoddamn, I didn’t know she thought I was downright stupid.
“Let me guess, her baby daddy is long gone—if she even knows who the daddy is—and you’re nothing but the gullible bastard who took her in.” She scoffs. “Open your eyes, Davis. That baby is not your daughter. You’re nothing but a meal ticket.”
“Go fuck yourself, Amanda,” I say instead of laying into her like I want to, somehow managing to keep my voice lowered so I don’t wake Lily. I end the call, wishing I had the satisfaction that would come from slamming a wall phone down on the receiver. As it is, I toss my cell phone aside on the bench seat, ignoring it as it rings over and over again when Amanda calls me back.
Eventually, the phone goes silent, and I spend the rest of Lily’s nap rubbing my nose back and forth over her hair, taking deep breaths of her scent until I calm. I turn up the volume on the radio, softly singingBeautiful Messright alongside Diamond Rio.
The woman formerly known as my sister can think I’m an idiot all she wants. Her loathsome opinion won’t make me doubt what I know is true to the very center of my being—Lilyismy daughter, and Goldieis the one. Through and through. They’re my real family—not the girl I just happened to be raised with who took off the very minute she graduated high school, leaving me to care for our dad, who loved her as much as he loved me, all on my own.
She can rot with Colton and his psychotic mother, along with anyone else who looks down on us. Fuck the whole lot of them.
Chapter 22
Goldie
Dolly and Ms. Judy are wearing identical expressions—heads tilted to the side, frowns tugging down the corners of their lips, and brows creased in the middle. The exhausted saleswoman—Layla, of all people—rearranges the train of the sixth wedding dress I’ve tried on as I stand on the short dais in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, twisting my body this way and that, studying my reflection.
“I don’t know.” I readjust the rhinestone-encrusted strap digging painfully into my shoulder, the stones on the bodice scratching the undersides of my arms. “What do y’all think?”
Layla, now wearing a black blazer over skinny black trousers, steps back and pinches her chin. “As much as I need the commission, I don’t think this isthe one.”
The owner walking past overhears Layla and gives her a shrewd look. Layla closes her eyes, letting out a sigh. I don’t think the crisply dressed older woman is too happy about Layla not pushing me into sayingyesto this dress.
Dolly and Ms. Judy nod at the same time. “I think the bright white one with the scoop neck was the best one so far,” Dolly says, her and her mother tilting their heads to the other side. “Doyou want to try that one on again? Maybe you’ll like it better the second time.”
Layla shakes her head, then gives me a searching look. “How open are you to other colors besides white and ivory?”
My brows go up. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Anything except red or orange, I guess.”
Layla snaps her fingers. “Be right back,” she says after helping me off the dais into the fitting room, removing the large clips holding the back of the heavy ball gown-style dress together.
My heart thumps when Layla helps me into the subtly shaded blush pink gown with a low sweetheart neckline. It has sheer, off-the-shoulder loose sleeves that drape softly down to my wrists, a breathable bodice with a tiny lace pattern, and a breezy, layered skirt made from the same material as the sleeves over a silky slip that flows out from the waist.
I can hardly catch my breath after exiting the fitting room, fluttery at the reflection that greets me. It’s almost hard to believethat’s me. I didn’t know I could look so…soft and feminine. Like I’ve stepped out of a fairy tale.
“This is the one,” I whisper.
Dolly and Ms. Judy nod and wipe their eyes with tissues. Ms. Judy stands to smooth out my short train while Layla gathers my hair back and slips a thin, gold floral tiara with delicate crystals into my hair.
“You look like a princess,” Dolly whispers, smiling when our eyes connect in the mirror.
“Stunning,” Ms. Judy says, joining Dolly and Layla’s sides. I wish so badly that Aunt Lydia was here to witness this, but I’m so grateful for the love and support these women are offering me.
I break from their gazes when I hear the chime above the front door, signaling someone stepping inside the boutique, shortly followed by the sound of a baby crying. Davis and Lily. Aheavy cream curtain separates the changing area from the front of the store so Davis can’t see me in my dress before our wedding day, and Ms. Judy walks behind it to talk to Davis.
